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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



TWO PLAYS AND 
A PREFACE 



BY 



DELLA J. EVANS 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright 1921, by Delia J. Evans 



All Rights Reserved 



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MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



Thk Gobham Press, Boston, U. S. a. 



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CONTENTS 

Preface 5 

The Rise of Comedy 5 

The One Act Play in America 10 

"M— R— S" 17 

The Younger Son 47 



TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 



PREFACE 

THE RISE OF COMEDY 

It has been said that with all the Greeks 
left us in the way of drama, they left us no 
high comedy. And it seems the Greeks were 
not the only ones who shied at having much 
to do with it. *Tis a far cry from "Ralph 
Royster Doyster" and "Grammar Gurton's 
Needle" to the present day, and yet there is 
almost nothing to be had on the subject of 
comedy, either in history or criticism. Pro- 
fessor Gayley's collection with notes, a chap- 
ter here and there, an essay by Mr. Mere- 
dith, very helpful sentences and paragraphs 
by Mr. Brander Mathews, and one has about 
summed it up. 

Mr. Mathews has defined "High Com- 
edy" as "the comic play that deals with life 
sincerely and satirically, without exaggerated 
caricature in the character-drawing and with- 
out extravagant fun-making in the episodes." 
Sir Arthur Pinero has been said to define 
comedy as "a successful farce written by a 
deceased author," which undoubtedly. Is one 
of those brilliant witticisms that only too 
plainly sacrifice truth to cleverness. 

5 



6 PREFACE 

To return to the Greeks, when they did 
deal sincerely with domestic situations, they 
put it into the form of tragedy. And per- 
haps it is to our advantage that they did. If 
they had not had that wide gap between 
their farcical comedies and their great trage- 
dies, posterity would no doubt have been the 
loser. 

We are led to believe that it is from the 
Latin and from Spain, in her more fortu- 
nate and scholarly days, that we drew the 
impetus for our English Comedy. A num- 
ber of pre-Shakespearian and dramatists 
contemporary with Shakespeare, brought 
their grist to the mill of Comedy and some 
of this has sifted down to us through cen- 
turies. Nicholas Udall, the author of Ralph 
Royster Doyster, Ben Johnson, Chapman, 
Massinger, all contributed, and even Lyly, 
with all his Euphueism, gave us some 
sprightly dialogue that had literary merits. 
Shakespeare, as we are all aware, gave some 
very vulgar comedy, but he also gave us 
some wonderful character studies in his com- 
edy parts and it is to him perhaps that we 
are indebted for our Romantic Comedy. One 
need only sit in a picture show through a 
Charlie Chaplin to realize that a good part 
of the audience is still fond of the same 
"slap-stick" vulgar comedy that held the 



PREFACE 7 

stage in the Elizabethan times. A majority, 
however, have progressed in the labyrinth of 
comedy far enough to demand and enjoy a 
stimulus for something besides their risibil- 
ities. 

But it is indeed to the comedy of manners 
that we must turn for an immediate precur- 
sor to our own; to Moliere, Congreve, Sher- 
idan, and particularly to Moliere. His 
*'Femmes Savantes," "Le Misanthrope," 
& "Le Bourgoise Gentkhomme," will all 
throw light on the Comedy of today. Be- 
tween this school and the present day's are 
a number of dramatists who wrote comedies 
and who have all contributed their bit — Os- 
car Wilde's "Lady Windermere's Fan" be- 
ing a notable example. 

In time Comedy was jostled a good deal 
out of the spot light by the so-called "Prob- 
lem Play" with Ibsen's masterpieces in the 
lead and a following of lesser ones by his 
conscious and unconscious imitators. Drama 
became "a pretty serious affair" with na- 
tional characteristics. About a decade ago, 
Mr. Mathews, in a newspaper interview, 
very cleverly characterized the English, Con- 
tinental (particularly the French), and 
American drama in some such manner — the 
English usually deals with caste; the French 
with marital difficulties, notably the "trian- 



8 PREFACE 

gle/* and the American with business inter- 
ests. The Public generally — particularly 
the "tired business man" — did not approve 
of the problem play. It remained for that 
genius George Bernard Shaw to combine the 
problem play with enough satire to make it 
comedy. But people would have none of it. 
At first they turned their backs and held up 
their hands in horror. And so Mr. Shaw 
learned to temper his theme a bit, and 
caused the Public to *'stop, look and listen'' 
and then to admire (in a good many cases 
against their wills) and as a result we have 
his masterpieces of wit. Mr. Shaw, let it be 
said, is in a class by himself. He may be 
lonesome — ''the heights by great men 
reached and kept" usually are, but he is to 
be congratulated as a wonderful satirist and 
a seer. It is losing too much to have one of 
his plays without his highly diverting but 
thoughtful prefaces and unfortunately the 
prefaces cannot be put upon the boards even 
with all the new ideas we have in elimination 
and development of stage craft. There 
were other playwrights who towed us back 
to comedy, notably among these Mr. Barrie 
with his whimsical and delightful comedies 
written for delightful actresses. 

Out of all this has arisen a high comedy 
that is something more than just high come- 



PREFACE 9 

dy. For want of a better name we shall call 
it "super-comedy." It Is something more — 
something beyond a comedy of manners, and 
out of it with the medium of verse added we 
are to hope for masterpieces in the near fu- 
ture. As all of us know, Mr. Rostand died 
too young. Perhaps he would have been the 
one to have given it to us, if we may judge 
from such a work as "Cyrano," which he, 
himself, I believe, called a "heroic comedy." 

As it is just now, this super-comedy might 
be compounded from some such formula as 
the following — one part of the problem play 
to which just enough of the suggestion of 
tragedy has been added to start something, 
three parts of comedy, some keen satire, and 
atmosphere to taste. 

The "tired business man" does not know 
it, but he is getting his same problem-play to 
which he insisted his women folks "dragged" 
him as an unwilling victim, with a sugar coat- 
ing that makes the "nasty medicine" of the 
play-wright taste more like sweets than 
bitters. If he is satisfied, why worry! 
If everyone is pleased, "on with the dance" 
and good luck to a continued rise of Comedy. 



10 PREFACE 

THE ONE-ACT PLAY IN AMERICA 

The history of the One-Act Play, as such, 
is dim in the obscurity of newness. Perhaps 
this will appear a paradox, but there is an 
obscurity of newness with regard to the 
drama just as surely as there is an obscurity 
of age. It might be said that the One-Act 
Play as an institution is just now beginning 
to affect us with its distinctive individuality. 
For some time it has been strong enough and 
old enough to stand alone, but it has only 
very recently established a place where it 
might be allowed to do so. 

In the time of our grandparents short 
plays, or farces, were used, just as they are 
now, in some foreign theatres, to relieve the 
seriousness of longer tragedies, and given 
after them. Over twenty years ago Irving 
and Terry used a short play as a curtain 
raiser, and more than fifteen years ago some 
of Barrie's charming one-act creations were 
used to fill up the evening with such delight- 
ful things as, *'Alice Sit by the Fire." *Tan- 
taloon" was a famous curtain raiser, as was 
"The Twelve Pound Look." But no one 
took the One-Act Play very seriously or 
realized what a "social climber" it was to be 
in the world of drama. Now its position is 
unquestioned, and actors and producers are 



PREFACE II 

both perfectly willing to accept it. The road 
to this success is as hard to trace as the road 
of some climbers in the social world, but it 
is patent that Lady Gregory, Yeats, Synge, 
and The Irish Players who first presented 
their plays, did much to further the cause in 
our country. These one-act dramas as pro- 
duced by these players, advertised themselves 
most favorably by being so true to the na- 
tive tragedy and comedy of Irish life that 
they were resented in America by the very 
element depicted. But this very situation, 
although disagreeable at the time, called 
one's attention to the fact that the One-Act 
Play could and would be a most compelling 
factor in the dramatic world. 

In France, in England, and in Ireland, 
The One-Act Play was accepted as such some 
time before it was in America, and Mr. Un- 
derhill tells us in *'Drama" that in Spain, "it 
holds a well established place in the theatri- 
cal world," and what is of more Importance 
to producers and managers, "yields large re- 
turns financially." That it has not always 
been a financial success in America, I shall 
not hesitate to admit, but that it Is an artis- 
tic success is apparent from the increasing 
number of companies formed to play one- 
act plays almost exclusively, and no doubt 
the financial success will come in time. Such 



12 PREFACE 

companies as the Washington Square Play- 
ers (that was) ; The Stuart Walker Port- 
manteau Players, now in its prime, perhaps; 
the Provincetown group that produced Mr. 
Eugene O'Neil of "Beyond the Horizon*' 
fame and Miss Glaspell who wrote that very 
gripping little play called * 'Trifles"; the 
Wisconsin Players; The 47 Work Shop Lit- 
tle Theatre; and all the other "Little Thea- 
tres" that are scattered over the country 
from East to West and North to South are 
a proof of its progress and success. 

As to the writers of one-act plays — they 
are legion. Among whom are no less per- 
sons than Lord Dunsany and Granville Bar- 
ker. It is encouraging to know that such 
men considered it worth while to publish a 
volume of short plays. Among our own 
writers are the two I have mentioned, Mr. 
O'Neil and Miss Glaspell, Miss Gale, of the 
Wisconsin Players, Mary McMillan, Perci- 
val Wilde, George Middleton, Stuart Walk- 
er, Lewis Beach, and a host of others; all 
doing good work but helping the cause by 
their failures as well as by their successes. 
By their failures because they show their suc- 
cessors what not to do, and by their suc- 
cesses, because success means always the 
growth of a cause. 

The form of The One-Act Play is rather 



PREFACE 13 

well established. It has been said more than 
once that it, "bears the same relation to the 
longer play that the short story does to the 
novel." But this must be taken with restric- 
tions. That it is like the short story in one 
respect there is no doubt and that is that it 
must have a singleness of effect to be a suc- 
cess. It may, like the story, be written with 
a purpose, to entertain, or just to amuse. If 
the last, it is usually in one of three forms: 
comedy, farce comedy, or satire. If written 
to entertain, it must be an artistic creation so 
exquisite in atmosphere and essential detail 
that it creates a lasting impression. If writ- 
ten for a purpose, that purpose must be so 
concealed by the episode itself, the situation, 
or the atmosphere of the play, that the au- 
dience receives the stimulus of that purpose 
almost unconsciously. And, if the playright 
is fortunate enough in his work to combine 
all three, purpose, amusement, and enter- 
tainment, his play is pretty sure to prove a 
good reading drama as well as a good act- 
ing drama, and bids fair to be called a mas- 
terpiece. As to the scenic arrangements, a 
simple scene Is best as that is more adapted 
to schools and settlement play houses where 
the playright has the advantage of a very 
mixed and democratic audience. It is also 
better for the so-called "Little Theatre'* as 



14 PREFACE 

"the play's the thing," and too elaborate 
or unusual scenery detracts from the single- 
ness of effect produced. 

Not long ago I was deeply interested in 
watching the effect on a very mixed audience 
of using the same scene, a kitchen with gray 
walls and white wood-work, in three very 
different plays. The producer, a very suc- 
cessful person in such work, procured varied 
effects by the use of different shaped and 
different colored curtains at the window; a 
slight change of furniture, a difference in 
properties used, and a decided change in 
color arrangement and color of costumes. 
The three plays were : "The Old Lady Shows 
her Medals, Three Pills in a Bottle, and The 
Maker of Dreams." There were very few 
of the audience, probably, who realized any 
sameness in the scene, and the fact that there 
was only a change of detail and costume, 
held rather than diverted their interest. "The 
play's the thing," after all. 

Carrying out the idea of the one scene for 
an evening I offer this suggestion — it might 
be advantageous in the future for publishers 
of one-act plays to group them in volumes 
under some such head as the following: 
Plays to be Done in a Kitchen; Three Plays 
for a Bed-room; Plays for a Living-room; 
Drawing-room; Butchershop; Railway Sta- 



PREFACE 15 

tion, etc. At first glance this may appear 
frivolous to the serious minded, but it would 
no doubt save the producers and managers 
many a weary search for three one-act plays 
(as three usually fill an evening) that can be 
given without much change of scene. 

That The One-Act Play is established 
with us is apparent. That it may develop 
into something else is possible, as all things 
change, but that it makes a good reading 
drama, if well done, as well as a good act- 
ing drama, is going to be proved by careful 
playrights, and that it will become a source 
of great pleasure to the multitude as it is now 
to the few, is the hope of all those interested 
in it. 



"M— R— S" 
A Play in One Act 



Characters 

Miss Cordelia Crenshaw— A spinster. 

Betty — Her younger sister, who is mar- 
ried. 

Mrs. Crenshaw — Her mother. 

Mr. Crenshaw — Her father. 

Sam Crenshaw— Her brother, who is 
married. 

Cordelia, Jr. — Sam's daughter, a girl of 
sixteen. 

Mr. James Peabody — A bachelor. 

A Maid. 

A Dog. 



19 



SCENE I 

The Crenshaw living room, about ten in 
the morning. 

SCENE II 

The same, about five in the afternoon. 

SCENE III 

The same as I and II, but three months 
later and nine in the evening. 



20 



SCENE I 

(The Crenshaw living-room, about ten in 
the morning.) Miss Cordelia Crenshaw, 
the old maid of the family, and a good look- 
ing woman of thirty-five, is knitting rather 
hurriedly and nervously as though she ex- 
pected to he called away the next minute. 
The street door closes. She listens — then, 
as a young woman appears at the door, she 
says, without looking up: 

Well, Betty, what's the matter now? 

Betty 
Charles and I had another row this morn- 
ing. 

Cordelia 
What about? 

Betty 
He said I loved the dog more than I did 
him. 

Cordelia 
Well, don't you ? 

Beity 
Of course, but I said I didn't. Then he 
said I lied and always had lied to him about 
everything. 

21 



22 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Cordelia 
And what did you say to that ? 

Betty 
I said it was his attitude that made me, 
and we, neither of us, ate much breakfast, 
and when he went out, he gave Laddie a kick 
that made him howl, and I was furious. 
Cordelia 
Hadn't I better keep the dog a day or two ? 

Betty 
Yes — and, oh Cordy, don't wear your 
hair that way — it looks awfully old-fash- 
ioned. Anyone would know you were an old 
maid. 

Cordelia 
{Drops the knitting in her lap and looks 
^'daggers^^ at her sister.) Betty, I think 
you're just as unkind as you can be. Do you 
realize I don't have time to primp and fuss 
over myself as you do ? Do you realize that 
I am home-keeper, companion, trained nurse, 
when it's necessary, private secretary to 
Father, and a thousand other things in this 
home? 

Betty 
Oh, Cordy! 

Cordelia 
(Rushing on.) — and that if I weren't 
here — if I should go away and live my life 
as every woman has a right to do, you or 



«M— R— S" 23 

Sam would have to come home and take care 
of Father and Mother — 

Betty 

Well— 

Cordelia 

— and yet you, whom I am saving, come 
and criticize my looks and call me old maid 
in that derisive way. (Gets up and walks 
about in an agitated manner,) 

Betty 

Oh nonsense, Cordy. 

Cordelia 

Oh, I wonder why it is that we *'old 
maids,'' as the world calls us, must submit to 
the patronizing of women, who are married 
— women, who have succeeded in catching 
a man, and whom we know, down in our 
hearts, are not nearly so attractive as we are. 

Betty 

Well, I like that I 

Cordelia 

{Turning to Betty.) I don't mean you, 
Betty. You certainly are good to look at, 
but you didn't marry Charles because you 
loved him. You married him to be married, 
so you would not be an ''old maid" and you 
go through the world, pointing a finger of 
scorn at any woman who has not landed a 
man — {She dabs her eyes with her hand- 
kerchief and takes up her knitting again. ) 



24 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Betty 
Cordy, youVe not fair. 

Cordelia 
Indeed I am fair, but I'm not nice, I'm 
horrid! {Trying to he more agreeable.) 
Where are you going this morning? 

Betty 
I'm going to a meeting to talk about help- 
ing unfortunate children. Mrs. Borden 
asked me, and, of course, I couldn't refuse 
her. She said they had had a hard time to 
persuade women to come. 
Cordelia 
{Drops her knitting to her lap.) Why, I 
should love to have gone. 

Betty 
They didn't ask any unmarried women. 
They thought it would be best not to, 
and anyway, what do old maids know 
about children? 

Cordelia 
There it is again — "old maids!" Please 
oblige me by trying to leave that out of your 
vocabulary. {Looks at her wrist watch.) 
You'll be late to your meeting. I'll keep 
Laddie, won't I, boy? {She leans over and 
pets the dog.) 

Betty 
{Rising and going to the door.) Shall 
you go to Mrs. Van Hyse's tomorrow night? 



"M— R— S" 25 

Cordelia 

{Drops her knitting to her lap and looks 
up with a cynical little smile.) I understand 
they are having such a hard time finding a 
man for me, that I think I shall be compelled 
to develop a cold or something of the sort. 

Betty 

Oh, Cordelia, you're unreasonable. Good- 
bye! {She goes out.) 

Cordelia 

{Puts her knitting on the table and taking 
the dog's head in her hands, soliloquises, 
looking at him and talking quietly and sad' 
ly to him.) Laddie, I am an old maid! I'm 
old to be unmarried and I'm a maid, so I am 
an old maid, but am I that derisive creature 
that children caricature and laugh at — that 
men mock or pity as the case may be, and 
that women who married to be married, 
scorn? Am I, Laddie? Tell me. Boy. Those 
great knowing eyes of yours ought to see 
more than we do. Is there no place in the 
world for old maids and old bachelors who 
give their lives that others may live comfort- 
ably, and who, later on are left alone in the 
world, to drag through the infirmities of old 
age, without the joy of youth about them in 
their children, who creep farther and farther 
away from the world to hide their loneliness, 
and die forgotten — Oh, Laddie, there must 
be I 



26 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

(Picks up her knitting and goes at it en- 
ergetically. In a very decided voice,) Fm 
not going to do that, Laddie. Fm going to 
marry I I'm going to ask the first, nice, old 
bachelor I see to marry me and allow me to 
use his name with the "Mrs." before it, that 
seems so indispensable. It's to be merely a 
business transaction. I keep his home and 
entertain his friends and see that he is com- 
fortable for the use of the "M-r s." — mere- 
ly a business transaction, Laddie. 
Mr. Peabody 

{With stick and hat in hand, hesitating a 
moment at the door,) I hope I'm not in- 
truding. Miss Cordelia? 

Cordelia 
{A side f as if to the dog,) Sent my Provi- 
dence, Laddie. {Rising and putting down 
her knitting.) No, you came just at the 
right time. I fear my courage might have 
left me if you had been a moment later, Mr. 
Peabody. You are a bachelor, aren't you? 

Mr. Peabody 
{In a tone of great surprise,) Yes, very 
much an old bachelor, so my friends tell me. 
Why? 

Cordelia 

Because, what I was going to ask of you 
might be embarrassing if you were not. 



"M— R— S" 27 

Mr. Peabody 
{Very much amused.) I hope you're not 
going to ask me to marry anyone? 
Cordelia 
{A little breathless, somewhat shocked at 
what she is doing.) I was — 
Mr. Peabody 
{Still very amused.) And may I ask who 
the unfortunate lady is to be ? 
Cordelia 
{Almost breathless with fright.) I, 
Beatrice Cordelia Crenshaw. 
Mr. Peabody 
{A little irritated.) I don't understand 
your joke, Miss Cordelia. 
Cordelia 
{In a very firm voice now.) I'm not jok- 
ing, Mr. Peabody. 

Mr. Peabody 
{Coming around and standing in front of 
her and looking down at her.) Then you're 
ill! 

Cordelia 
No, I never was in better health, I feel 
sure I am going to develop a cold by to-mor- 
row night, but I'm quite well this morning. 
Mr. Peabody 
{Still very much mystified.) Is your 
Mother ill again? 



28 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Cordelia 

No, on the contrary, she Is much better 
than she was the last time you were In the 
city. She has gone out to spend the day. 
Mr. Peabody 

I know your Father Is well, because I have 
just come from him. {Drawing up a chair 
and sitting down.) Now, would you mind 
telling me just what Is the matter? 
Cordelia 

{A little breathlessly and rapidly y as if 
wanting to get through with it.) Not at all, 
It's just that Fm tired of being an old maid, 
and I vowed a few moments ago that Fd ask 
some, good, respectable bachelor to marry 
me and let me take his name. In return I 
should see that he was comfortable, try to 
make his home attractive and entertain his 
friends for him. {Mr. Peabody nods his 
head gravely.) It would be merely a busi- 
ness transaction and each of us would be as 
free to come and go as though we were un- 
married. {Looking up.) Do you still think 
Fm mad?" 

Mr. Peabody 

No, I think you are a very frank and cour- 
ageous woman, but {smiling indulgently at 
her)y let's say a trifle hasty perhaps. 
Cordelia 

You put It very kindly, Mr. Peabody. 



*»M— R— S" 29 

Mr. Peabody 

You know nothing of my life. Fm almost 

an old man, or at least I look it. See how 

gray I'm getting. I've lived alone for ten 

years and I'm afraid I'm very set in my ways. 

Cordelia 

I think I heard you say once that you were 
forty-five. I'm thirty-five. 

Mr. Peabody 

Thirty-five, well I should never have 
thought it. Do you realize that you are a 
very attractive woman and that you may yet 
love some man? You would undoubtedly 
have a great many admirers, and let us say, 
suitors, perhaps, if you were placed in an- 
other environment. 

Cordelia 

But I never shall be, and I'm getting old- 
er and uglier and crosser every day. Only 
this morning I said such nasty, sharp things 
to my sister and you remember '*a sharp 
tongue is the only edge tool that grows keen- 
er with constant use." 

Mr. Peabody 

Very true, but with love you would be a 
different woman. You are the sort of wo- 
man that needs love and I can't give you 
that. I've liked you from the first and I've 
always enjoyed the little chats we've had, 
when I came to see your Father, but that*s 



30 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

very different from the love you deserve. 
You must make a promise, Miss Cordelia, 
if we enter into this contract, I must have 
your word that you will tell me the minute 
you find that man that all women ought to 
find, and so few do — the one who really 
loves you and whom you really love. You 
must be happy if it is possible. 
Cordelia 

{Looking up frankly and honestly.) I 
promise but I shall never find him. 
Mr. Peabody 

Don't be too sure. Love is a strange thing. 
It is to be found and not found in the strang- 
est places. Do you realize that seventy-five 
per cent, of the women who marry, marry 
without love. They think they love, but they 
are carried off their feet by that insidious lit- 
tle germ Romance, that creeps into their 
blood and makes them see only the glamour 
of being an engaged being, a bride, a young 
mother, with a beautiful child that everyone 
turns to look at — 

Cordelia 

{Interrupting.) I understand all that, 
Mr. Peabody — 

Mr. Peabody 

{Continues.) They shut their eyes to all 
the ugly little things that come up in life for 
consideration before one can arrive at ma- 



"M— R— S'* 31 

turity. They are fairly eaten up by the 
germs of romance and they do not want to 
be old maids. 

Cordelia 

I know, but — 

Mr. Peabody 

(Continuing.) Do you realize that fifty 
per cent, of the widows in the world are glad 
to be widows, provided they are left with 
sufficient income. Not long ago I went to 
attend the funeral of a college friend, whom 
I had not seen since his marriage. His wife, 
to all appearances, was deeply grieved. I 
rode to the cemetery with her, as they were 
among strangers. While returning, she lift- 
ed her veil and said quietly: "James Pea- 
body, your friend led me a Hell of a life I" 
Cordelia 

Oh, how could she I 

Mr. Peabody 

I was shocked and grieved, but my sense of 
humor came to my aid, and I said, "Then, 
Madam, may I ask why you weep?" She 
turned her head and looked out at the fields 
we were passing, "I am not grieving for 
him," she said, "but for that young girl, my- 
self, who died and was buried soon after our 
marriage." "And is there no possibility of 
her coming to life again," I asked. "None," 
she said, most desolately, and I knew she 



32 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

was right. It is such things as these that 
keep old bachelors old bachelors. 
Cordelia 
(Looking! up archly,) YouVe not suc- 
ceeded in frightening me yet, Mr. Peabody. 
Mr. Peabody 
(fF hints ic ally. Has risen and walked the 
length of the room,) Miss Cordelia, one 
thing more — when this thing is settled, I 
want you to allow me to propose to you. 
Cordelia 
How absurd. Why there'd be no need of 
that. 

Mr. Peabody 
Oh, yes, there would. When romantic 
youngsters come to you and say, "Oh, Mrs. 
Peabody, how did Mr. Peabody propose to 
you," I want you to be able to tell them. 
Mark my words, theyUl ask you. 
Cordelia 
{Laughing,) Nonsense, but do as you 
like. 

Mr. Peabody 
{Looking at his watch,) It's getting near 
lunch time. It is necessary for us to go over 
this thing very thoroughly. Can't you come 
along to the city and lunch with me ? 
Cordelia 
{Rising and going toward the door,) Give 
roe just two minutes I {Stopping at the 



**M— R— y' 33 

door,) You'll find your kind of cigarettes 
on the table and some late magazines. (She 
goes out.) 

Mr. Peabody 
(Gets a cigarette f comes down center ^ 
then seats himself near Laddie, Sighs and 
shakes his head thoughtfully , with unlighted 
cigarette in his fingers.) A very singular 
situation, Laddie, a very singular situation. 

Curtain 



SCENE II 

i 
{Mr, Crenshaw comes blustering in, in a 
great rage. He rattles the door in his ner- 
vousness and finally opens it and enters. The 
room is perfectly dark and he stumbles about 
until he lights the table lamp, talking all the 
while. ) 

Mr. Crenshaw 

(Entering,) Mother! Kate I Where in 
the world is everybody? Nice home to come 
to! No one here — no light (turns on the 
light,) (Calls again,) Mother! Lizzie! 
And this is all caused by that ungrateful 
g^rl. (Rushes to telephone,) Operator, 
give me 4694 Clifton — 4-6-9-4. Think I 
want to wait all day ? Hello, Sam ! Jump in 
your car and come over here right away — 
What's the matter? (Sarcastically,) Oh, 
nothing, of course! Fm just having a pink 
tea, that's all. (Drops telephone and begins 
to pace the room,) Fine mess Cordy's made 
of things, ril show her whether she can trot 
off with every James Forsythe Peabody that 
comes along. Rank ingratitude, that's what 
it is. 

(The door opens and he speaks without 
turning around,) You little speed devil, 
Sam! 

34 



"M— R— S" 35 

Betty 

(At the door,) Sam! It isn't Sam, it's 
Betty. Where's Laddie? How are you Dad- 
dy, Dear? Isn't Laddie in here? 
Mr. Crenshaw 
Elizabeth, how can you be thinking of 
your affairs when your sister is losing her 
mind? 

Betty 
{With concern.) Where is Cordy? 
{Sam bursts in,) 

Sam 
Yes, where is Cordy? Isn't she here? We 
can't settle this, whatever it is, without her. 

Betty 
Settle what? 

Sam 
Don't you know either ? Haven't you told 
her Father? 

Mr. Crenshaw 
Well, have I had a chance? Of course, 
when you have quite finished — {He hands 
a telegram to Sam,) 

Betty 
What in the world — ? 

Sam 
Married 1 Good Lord! This is great! 
{Laughs heartily,) 

Betty 
{Snatching the telegram from him,) Well, 



36 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

if it*s so funny, you might let me see. (Goes 
to lamp and reads the telegram aloud^ slow- 
ly, while Sam laughs and his father snorts 
with rage.) "Married at three p. m. Will 
be home to receive congratulations. Corde- 
lia Crenshaw Peabody." 

Oh, Dad, do you suppose it is true ? What 
can we do? 

Sam 

Do? It doesn't seem theyVe left you very 
much of anything to do but regret what a 
slave you made of poor, old Cordy. 
Mr. Crenshaw 

When I want your views on the subject, 
Samuel, I'll ask for them. {Blusters.) I'll 
bring them to their senses I If Cordy thinks 
she can marry every fellow she takes a fancy 
to, I'll show her! She shall remain right 
here in this house where she belongs, where 
she's needed, and as for Jim Peabody, I just 
want to catch sight of him, that's all ! {Paces 
up and down. Mrs, Crenshaw enters.) 

{Mrs Crenshaw comes in, in hat and 
wraps and drops into the nearest chair. Sam 
and Betty and Mr. Crenshaw look from one 
to the other as though each expected the oth- 
er to speak. ) 

Mrs. Crenshaw 

{Realizing that something has happened.) 
Well, what are Sam and Betty here for at 



«M— R— S" 37 

this time of day? Has ati3rthing happened? 
Where's Cordelia? What are you keeping 
from me ? 

Mr. Crenshaw 

Cordelia's married! 

Mrs. Crenshaw 

(Sitting bolt upright,) Married? She 
can't be. The fall cleaning isn't done, and 
I've had only one fitting at my tailor's. 

Sam 

{Taking the telegram to his mother,) 
Somehow, she seems to have put it across in 
spite of her family. 

Mrs. Crenshaw 

{Reads,) ^'Married at 3.30. Will be 
home to receive congratulations. Cordelia 
Crenshaw Peabody." {Mrs. Crenshow con^ 
tinues.) So its your friend James Peabody 
who has stolen our daughter from us. I'm 
relieved since it had to be a man, that it isn't 
that young Willard chap who is always hang- 
ing around her, 

Sam 

That young Willard chap is hanging 
around Cordy for the sake of seeing my 
daughter Cordelia. I've let him know that 
she's too young to receive his attentions, so 
he showers them over her aunt's shoulders. 
Mrs. Crenshaw 

I suppose all women have to be married 
some time. 



38 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Sam 

Yes, so they can have a husband to extract 
money from and quarrel with occasionally — 
eh, Betty? 

Mr. Crenshaw 

Damn all women! Cordelia is not like 
other women. There's something behind 
this I No man was ever — {A bell rings and 
the maid goes to open the door.) — farther 
from marriage than James — 

{Voices in the hall,) 
Maid 

Yes, Miss Cordy, your Mother is here. 

Sam 

Shi There they are. 

{Cordelia appears at the door in a very 
becoming hat and street suit. Mr. Peabody 
is just behind her. ) 

{Mr. Crenshaw stops and confronts them 
the minute they are well inside the room.) 
Mr. Crenshaw 

Well, what does this mean, Cordelia ? 

{Sam stands hurriedly — Betty comes for* 
ward excitedly, then goes to comfort her 
mother — Mrs. Crenshaw takes out her 
smelling salts.) 

Cordelia 

{Sweetly. Taking off her gloves and look- 
ing at her wedding ring.) Just what the 
telegram said. Father, we're married. 



"M— R— S^* 39 

Mr. Crenshaw 

You can't be, it's absurd. 
Mr. Peabody 

But we are, Crenshaw, and we came to get 
your blessing before we started on the wed- 
ding journey. {He walks over to Mrs, 
Crenshaw and greets her.) 

Mr. Crenshaw 

Wedding journey I Why you haven't even 
been in love. 

Mr. Peabody 

Very true, we haven't, but I am beginning 
to think that is not so necessary to a happy 
marriage as congeniality of tastes, a sense of 
humor, and a thorough understanding be- 
tween the condemned parties. [He smiles 
reassuringly at Cordelia, Cordelia looks at 
him proudly and gratefully,) 
Mr. Crenshaw 

{Turning to Cordelia,) Peabody has 
proved himself an ass, but you, Cordelia, I 
have always looked upon you as worth a 
dozen other women, when it came to com- 
mon sense. You're mad, both of you. 
You're insane. I wash my hands of you. 
{He goes out in a rage,) 

Betty 

{With a very superior matronly air,) I 
hope you realize what you're doing, Corde- 
lia? 



40 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Cordelia 

{A little piqued, turning to her.) I cer- 
tainly do. I shall not be called old — 
Mr. Peabody 

Breaking in quickly with a smile at Cordc- 
lia.) Miss Crenshaw any longer — she will 
now be Mrs. James Forsythe Peabody. 
{Turning quickly to Sam,) Aren't you go- 
ing to congratulate us, Sam? 

Sam 

(Takes Cordelia* s hand and fingers the 
wedding ring — then taking her hand to his 
lips, kisses it affectionately, and lets it fall. 
Grasps Mr, Peabody* s hand.) I hope you 
realize what you're getting, Peabody. Cordy 
is the finest woman I ever knew. Love her 
and be good to her and you'll never regret 
it. (He goes out, overcome with his emo- 
tion,) 

(Cordelia and James Peabody look at 
each other a little startled, by Sam's admoni' 
tion,) 

(The maid appears at the door with a 
traveling bag.) 

Maid 

Here's your bag, Miss Cordelia. The 
taxi's here. 

Cordelia 

(Going over to her mother,) Good-bye, 
mother. (They kiss each other affection^ 
ately.) 



Betty 
{Walks to the door with them, shakes 
hands with James conventionally, and kisses 
Cordelia.) Good-bye and I hope you'll be 
happy. 

Mrs. Crenshaw 
{Sobbing.) What shall I do without Cor- 
delia ! 

Betty 
There, there, Mother! Don't cry! V\\ 
let you keep Laddie for awhile. 

Curtain 



SCENE III 

{Three months have passed since Scene 
II. Cordelia and James Peabody have re- 
turned from their wedding journey and have 
arrived just before dinner^ to visit the Cren- 
shaws. Cordelia is seated on a couch very 
comfortably knitting. James is seated oppo- 
site, smoking and watching her hands, evi- 
dently with a great deal of pleasure. They 
both look well and happy and younger. At 
the other side of the room, in the light of a 
desk lamp, doubled up in a comfortable 
chair, entirely absorbed in her book, is Cor- 
delia, Jr., Sam's daughter, a girl of sixteen 
years of age.) 

Cordelia 
{Very low, so as not to disturb her niece.) 
Did you see how glad they all were to see 
me, and with what pride Mother said to the 
new maid, *'Take Mrs. Peabody's wraps, 
Katie." I'll tell you, the M-r-s. has a great 
effect on women, no matter what you say to 
the contrary. 

James 
{Flecking the ashes from his cigarette 
thoughtfully.) Its a great pity they have to 
marry us poor devils to be called Mrs. 
Cordelia 
{Looking warningly toward Cordelia, 
Jr.) Shi 

42 



"M— R— S^' 43 

James 

{With a nod in the girVs direction^ hut 
very low,) She can't hear. She's steeped in 
Romance. She's hurrying on to the place 
near the end where he tells the heroine he 
loves her. {They hoth look at the girl with 
amusement^ then fall silent for a moment, 
Cordelia^ Jr.y finishes her book^ closes it with 
a hang and sighing^ gets up and comes over 
to sit by her Aunt, She is still lost in Ro- 
mance and looks musingly at the lamp,) 
Cordelia, Sr. 

Well, Dear, and how do you enjoy stay- 
ing with Grandfather and Grandmother and 
taking my place ? 

Cordelia, Jr. 

In some ways I like it and in some I don't. 
I have felt dreadfully important and fear- 
fully imposed upon. Grandmother is always 
losing something that I have to hunt and 
Grandfather is always hunting something 
that he says I've lost. Aunt Betty is always 
coming over to tell me how disagreeable Un- 
cle Charles is and how hard it is to keep Lad- 
die clean and everyone expects something of 
me that I didn't do. 

{James and Cordelia laugh,) 
James 

My Dear, you are learning very early the 
cost of occupying an important position. 



44 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Cordelia, Jr. 

I think ril elope as you did, Aunt Cordy. 
How did Uncle James propose to you? 

(Cordelia, Sr., looks at James and James 
nods his head as if to say '7 told you soP*) 
Cordelia, Sr. 

{Somewhat embarrassed,) Oh, I don't 
know, Dear — 

James 

{Interrupting,) I do, I remember exact- 
ly. I said, "Miss BeatriceCordelia Crenshaw, 
will you do me the honor to give me your 
hand in marriage." And your Aunt Cordy 
(we had just finished the first lunch we ever 
took tete-a-tete) laughed and put her hand 
out on the table and said, "Very well, here 
it is,'* and I took the measurement of her fin- 
ger for a wedding ring, and we went to the 
jeweler's and bought it, and then we were 
married and lived happily ever after. {He 
and Cordelia smile at each other,) 
Cordelia, Jr. 

{Looks from one to the other, and find- 
ing that they have forgotten her, gets up and 
starts away. She turns and says,) Well, I 
don't think that's very romantic. I'm going 
to ask Mother, when I go home tomorrow, 
what Father said to her. 

James 

Better not. You may be disappointed. 



"M— R— S*» 45 

Most happy marriages are not foreshad- 
owed by romantic proposals/' {He smiles 
at her and she smiles hack a little mystified^ 
and goes out humming,) 

James 
What a romantic youngster she is! 

Cordelia 
I hope she'll marry young. 

James 
She will. She'll probably marry young 
Willard before she's twenty and then, at 
thirty she'll be falling in love with every new 
matinee idol that comes to town. 
Cordelia 
I believe in youthful matches. 

James 
And I believe in more mature ones. 

Cordelia 
It's very good of you, James, to say that, 
since ours was that sort. 

{James gets up and walks about thought- 
fully, smoking, while Cordelia knits. He 
stops suddenly and sighing, looks down at 
her and begins to speak.) 

James 
Cordelia, you remember when you made 
me the promise about the proposal you made 
me another one? 



46 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Cordelia 
{Without looking up.) Yes, I remember, 
James. 

James 
{Continuing.) I've thought very often 
lately that you acted very much like a woman 
in love — you are absent-minded, abnormally 
happy, at times, then at other times, as ab- 
normally depressed. Am I right? 
Cordelia 
{Without looking up and bending very 
close over her knitting.) Yes, James. 

James 
{Huskily.) Then you do love someone. 

Cordelia 
{Nodding her head.) Yes, very deeply, 
James. 

James 
{Standing petrified with his grief, his eyes 
on the floor.) And may I ask wno it is. 
Cordelia 
{Drops her knitting and rushes over to 
him and taking hold of the lapels of his coat, 
says very tenderly, in a voice tense with emo- 
tion.) Look, James, don't you sec who it is? 

Curtain 



THE YOUNGER SON 
A Play in One Act and Two Scenes 



Characters 

John Pierce — ^The younger son. 

Richard— his elder brother. 

Mr. Pierce — his father. 

Philip Pierce — his uncle. 

Margaret Richter — the girl John loves. 

Mr. Green — representing a furniture firm. 

Miss Ward — a stenographer. 

Stephen — a colored janitor. 

Hinty— a foreman. 

Time: the present. 



49 



Scenes 

Scene I. — Office of The Crescent Furni- 
ture Company. 

Scene II — Office of The John Pierce Man- 
ufacturing Co. 

(The action takes place in a city in the 
Middle West.) 



50 



THE YOUNGER SON 

SCENE I 

{The office of The Crescent Furniture 
Company, As the curtain rises, Richard 
Pierce, at his desk, is dictating a letter to his 
stenographer, John Pierce, as assistant 
manager, is at his desk on the other side of 
the room,) 

Richard 

Hoping that this will meet with your ap- 
proval and that we may have your order not 
later than the sixteenth, we beg to remain, 
sincerely yours, Richard Pierce, Manager, 
Crescent Furniture Co. 

{The telephone rings,) 
Richard 

{Answering,) Hello I Hello! Yes, this is 
Mr. Pierce. Yes, she's here. {Hands the 
receiver over to Miss Ward, Here, Miss 
Ward, Lawyer Judson wants to speak to 
you. Youv'e become an heiress. Perhaps 
some rich uncle has left you a fortune." 
Miss Ward 

{Taking the receiver,) Far from it, Mr. 
Pierce. He wants to talk about a mortgage. 

Hello, Mr. Judson I {She listens a mo- 

51 



52 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

ment,) Why, I can't raise no two hundred 
dollars. When? In June! All right. Til 
see what I can do about it. (She slams the 
receiver up. Both men raise their heads in- 
terestedly, ) 

Richard 

Hard luck, Miss Ward? 
Miss Ward 

Gee, yes I If we don't raise two hundred 
by the first of June we're going to lose our 
place out there at the edge of town. And 
we've got our garden all in and the boys and 
Mother have painted everything up and 
pruned the fruit trees and the berries — {She 
wipes her eyes,) An' we got a cow and 
chickens and ducks and geese and Belgian 
hares and two pigs — 

John 

(Laughing,) What else, Miss Ward? 
Miss Ward 

(Continuing,) And if we don't keep it, 
we got to go back to Dayton, Ohio, and live 
off of Grandma, and believe me, she don^t 
make it any too pleasant. 

Richard 

(Patting her on the shoulder soothingly.) 

There, there I Why I never saw you so up- 
set over anything before. We can't allow 
that. I'll just lend you the money, never 
miss that in the world. 



THE YOUNGER SON 53 

Miss Ward 
Oh, I can't let you do that, Mr. Pierce. 

Richard 
Well, isn't it worth that to us, in our busy 
season, not to have to break in a new stenog- 
rapher? 

Miss Ward 
Sure, I can see that side of it. But it cer- 
tainly is generous of you and we can pay it 
back by September. Ma has some money 
coming in then. 

Richard 
Very well, we won't talk any more about 
it. You can run home and tell your mother. 
It's almost five and you can get that last let- 
ter out in the morning. 

HiNTY 

(Opens the door in the works and one 
hears the noise of the factory.) Mr. Pierce^ 
you said you wanted to see that piece of ma4 
chinery when we got it going. 
Richard 
(Jumping up.) All right, Hinty! {He 
goes out into the works.) 

Miss Ward 
{With her coat on and using her vanity 
mirror and puff.) Mr. John, your brother's 
an awfully good looking man, ain't he? 

John 
{fVithout looking up.) That's what 
every one says. 



54 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Miss Ward 
(Continues,) He and that Miss Richter 
have a terrible case, haven't they? 

John 
{In astonishment,) What I 

Miss Ward 
Gee, I hope I ain't telling anything I ought 
not to. 

John 
{Fery quietly.) Not at all. Miss Ward. 
They must make a very charming couple. 

Miss Ward 

You know we can look down on the Coun- 
try Club Links where we live and they're to- 
gether out there nearly every evening. Then 
Fve seen them at the theatre a lot lately. I 
can't just tell whether she's crazy about him 
or not, but from the way he's rushing her and 
him so good looking, I don't see how she can 
helf herself. 

{John appears to be very much absorbed 
in his work,) 

Miss Ward 

(Realizing that the conversation is at 
end,) Good-night, Mr. John. 

John 

{Without looking up.) Good-night, Miss 
Ward. 

{Richard rushes in from the factory, looks 



THE YOUNGER SON 55 

at the clock, hurriedly locks his desk, and 
quickly gets his cap and golf clubs,) 
Richard 

Fm going to be late. Fve got an engage- 
ment at 5.15. Don't need the car, do you? 

John 

{Jumping up,) Wait, I want to talk to 
you — 

Richard 

{Impatiently,) Fve got no time for one 
of your talks — 

John 

{Fiercely, locking the door,) You 
HAVE I That clock is five minutes fast and 
Fll not keep you half that time. First I 
want to know why you went to my room and 
took that particular tie pin? You didn't like 
it and when Father gave it to me to wear, 
you laughed at it. 

Richard 

Well, it's not yours, it's Father's, and I 
guess I have as much right to wear his things 
as you have. 

John 

Certainly you have, but why should you 
put no value on it until you see that I am very 
fond of it? And—it's not tie pins that Fm 
talking about, Richard. Since when did you 
grow so fond of Miss Richter? You used to 
laugh at her, call her a "high brow" and say 



S6 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

they were "new rich." You never cared for 
her and you never will. You saw I cared 
for her and she cared for me, and as usual 
you could not bear to see me get something I 
wanted without trying to show me that you 
could take it away from me if you chose. 
You've done that ever since we were babies. 
You always did it. 

Richard 

Well, if a better man than you can get 
your girl, you better brace up and take it 
like a man. If you make a fuss and go 
around telling people, they'll give you the 
*'Ha! Hal" Look what Father and I have 
done for you. Made a position for you here 
as assistant manager the minute you came out 
of college. It was I that suggested it — 

(There is a noise at the door. Some one 
tries to get in. Richard steps up and un- 
locks it.) 

How do you do, Mr. Green, mighty glad 
to see you. The door caught, I suppose. 
Mr. Green 

Not too late to do a little business, I hope. 
Richard 

{Jocularly.) Oh, no, always glad to at- 
tend to business. This is my brother, Mr. 
John Pierce, our assistant manager. He'll 
take care of you. I have an important en- 
gagement at the Country Club. Must leave 



THE YOUNGER SON 57 

— sorry — big man, you know that I want to 
nail in a little business matter, ha ! ha ! You 
understand how it is, don't you, Green? 

Mr. Green 
Certainly, Mr. Pierce. This is out of 
business hours. I'm only too fortunate to 
find somebody here. 

Richard 
Good-bye, Green! {Shakes hands and 
hurries out,) 

Mr. Green 
That brother of yours is a fine, handsome 
fellow, honest as the day and always in good 
spirits. It must be a pretty big affair he 
wants to land and he must be pretty confident 
about it. 

John 
{Absorbed in the point of his pen.) Yes, 
it is a big affair. The consequences may be 
great. He is trying to take another fel- 
low's girl away from him while the other 
fellow works. 

Mr. Green 
Ha! Hal So that it, is it? Well, he'll win 
out. 

John 
{With a quick breath of suffering.) He 
may and he may not. It depends entirely 
upon the girl. 



S8 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Mr. Green 

Well, this isn't business, is it? Now, Til 
tell you what I made this trip for — they're 
opening a new hotel down our way next Fall, 
a year from now, and they want all the 
furniture made to order. Can you handle 
that? 

John 

I think we can, Mr. Green. Suppose you 
just come with me into the superintendent's 
room. My book of plates is there and there's 
better light. 

{They go out through the door into the 
works. A very short time after they leave, 
Stephen comes in with a box on wheels into 
which he later empties the trash baskets,) 
Stephen 

{Looks around and negro-like begins 
talking to himself.) Doah wide open and 
evah body gone. Nobody round but ole 
Stephen. One o' these heah evenin's some- 
body goin' to come in and steal evah thing 
they got. {While he is talking he has emp- 
tied the basket under John*s desk and he 
goes to empty the one under Richard's. He 
holds the basket and looks closely at the 
blotter on the desk. He reads with difficul- 
ty.. "Oct. sixteenth, Miss Ward, Richard 
Pierce, Mgr. Crescent Furniture Co." 

What fah is he writin' checks fah Miss 



THE YOUNGER SON 59 

Ward? Goin' with one lady and writin' 
checks fah another one. Ole Stephen, foah 
he dies, he goin' to see trouble in this heah 
family. 

{The door opens and Philip Pierce en- 
ters. He is a tally angular man, elderly but 
well preserved, and with not much regard for 
his dress. He moves quickly and is well in- 
side the room before Stephen looks up from 
the basket he is emptying.) 
Stephen 

(With delight.) Well, 'pon my wahd, if 
heah ain't Mr. Philip! Thought you's in 
Australia, Mr. Pierce. When did you all 
gtt home? 

Philip 

At noon. 

Stephen 

Well, it certainly goin' be nice to have you 
all at home. Mr. John miss you. He don' 
seem to git on with his Pa and Mr. Richard. 
They ain't a mite alike. Mr. John's the nic- 
est man for one o' them still men, I evah 
seen. You see I been watching them boys 
evah since they's children. They ain't nevah 
goin' to git on, Mr. Philip. 

Philip 

Well, eh — How's the business, Stephen? 
Stephen 

I ain't worrin' about the business. O' 



6o TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

course, I don' go pryin round like some nig- 
gahs, but I knows they has to tuhn 'way some 
o' they adahs. The output o' this heah fac- 
tory 'creased 'bout twice what it was foah 
Mr. John come in heah. 

Philip 

Yon don't say I Good for John! 
Stephen 

Yes sah 1 1 done heard Mr. Pierce and Mr. 
Richard talking 'bout it and Mr. Richard, 
he done say that 'ceptin he didn't say it was 
since Mr. John came in — he jus' say, in the 
las' two yeahs. But I ain't worrin' 'bout the 
business, Mr. Philip — 

Philip 

Good Lord! What are you worrying 
about then? 

Stephen 

Well, I'm worryin' 'bout them boys. Mr. 
Philip, they're goin' to be trouble in this heah 
family. An' now, on top of that ill-feeling, 
what's Mr. Richard goin' to do but tryin' 
to take Mr. John's girl away from him. 

Philip 

{Deeply interested,) Well, what does 
John say to that? 

Stephen 

He seem perfectly 'blivious to it. I don't 
think he know. When he know ole Stephen 
don' like t' think what goin' to happen. Mr. 



THE YOUNGER SON 6i 

John^ — he been workin' heah evah evening 
an* plumb into the night, might neah mid- 
night for six weeks and Mr. Richard, he 
been runnin* out the Country Club evah 
night with that Miss Richter. I got a friend 
out theah, a waitah an' he say he can't fah 
the life of him tell whether she fallin' in love 
with Mr. Richard or not. One time he think 
she am an' anotha time he think she ain't. 

Philip 

How long's this been going on ? 
Stephen 

Might neah two months. 
Philip 

H'mm. 

v,.,-=^^ .-^ ■■. Stephen 'v>^ "■\- 

Thit 'ain't all. He goin' round with one 
lady an' writin' checks for anotha lady. I 
ain't privileged to tell how I know, but I got 
mighty neah certain proof o' that. That 
looks mighty 'spicidus to me. (John and 
Mr. Green are heard coming toward the 
door, Philip jumps up and goes to meet 
them.) 

Mr. Green 

{Coming through the door.) Well, now 
after this I'd like to do business with you, 
young man. You beat your brother at it. 

John 

{in good spirits. Quiet joy at seeing his 



62 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Uncle Philip.) Thank you, Mr. Green. 
Uncle Philip! (Grasping his hand.) Vm 
certainly glad to see you. This is my fath- 
er's brother, Mr. Pierce, Mr. Green. 
Mr. Green 
{Shaking hands,) Glad to see you, glad 
to see you, Mr. Pierce. You live in the city ? 

Philip 
Yes, I live here when Vm not away— 

Mr. Green 
(Looking at his watch,) Weill Well/ 
I wonder if I can catch that six-forty train. 
Good-bye, young man. Good-bye, Mr. 
Pierce, glad to have met you. (He goes out 
hurriedly,) 

{Stephen lingers around a hit and shuf' 
fles out through the factory door, Philip and 
John sit down as though preparing for a con' 
fidential chat,) 

Philip 
Business good, John? 
John 
Fine, Uncle Phil. 

Philip 
Well — How's life going generally with 
you ? 

John 
As well with me as with any, I suppose. 

Philip 
H'm- — ^Well, how are you and Richard 
getting along— any better? 



THE YOUNGER SON 63 

John 
{Bitterly.) Better? Worse! 

Philip 
Sounds pretty bad. Can't you tell me 
about it? You know when you were a little 
shaver, you used to save up things to tell me 
when I came home. Some times I could put 
things straight — some times I couldn't. May- 
be I could help you now, lad. 

John 
I know I'll feel like a cad for having said 
this to you, but — My God! if I don't say it 
to someone, I'm afraid I'll brood over it 
until the murder in my heart will become a 
horrible reality. Richard's not square, Un- 
cle Phil. 

Philip 
Well, is that something new to you? 

John 
No, he never was. But I hoped as a man 
he would outgrow it. He hasn't. 

Philip 
{Quietly.) He never will. 

John 
When I came out of college — in fact, be- 
fore I left college, Richard came up to see 
me. Said that he had had a talk with Fath- 
er, that he didn't want to always stay in the 
furniture business; that he wanted to go in- 
to motor supplies and that if I would come 



64 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

home and go Into the factory as assistant 
manager, in less than a year I could have the 
position and salary of manager and have the 
running of the factory to myself. You know 
I've always loved the factory. It's one of 
the first things I remember and I'll do al- 
most anything for love of it, but I can't stand 
things as they are. Things haven't turned 
out the way Richard said they would. 

Philip 

They never do, John. 
John 

(Continuing,) Now, Dick says he never 
intended going into the motor supply busi- 
ness; that he can't see where I got such an 
idea. So I go on doing two-thirds of the 
work and drawing one-third of the pay. 
Then, too, all the money I've got in the 
world, the fifteen thousand Mother left me, 
is in the factory, and if I leave it (now that 
Father is not able to look after things) , there 
is no telling what will happen to my share if 
Richard has control, and he and Father are 
both against me. Then, there Is that tie of 
blood, of family that is really holding me 
more than anything else. It's strange how 
It holds people at times against their wills 
and against their better judgment. 

Philip 
' That's the pity of it. But fortunately It's 



THE YOUNGER SON 65 

not as strong in me as it is in you, John. I 
was a younger son too. Your father was 
four years older than I and when he started 
this factory, he wanted me to go in with him, 
begged me to do it, and finally persuaded me 
by what he promised. His promises were 
never kept ; said he didn't make them and 
finally, after seven years of it, I walked out 
one evening and never came back. The real 
reason I left was the same that you have for 
leaving now — he took my girl. That was 
your mother, John. When I came back, she 
was just a shadow of herself and she told me 
then that she didn't love your Father; that 
she never had, and if I'd take her back with 
me to Montana, she would leave him and 
the baby in a minute. The baby was Rich- 
ard. Of course, I couldn't take her and the 
next time I came back home, she was dead 
and you were a little shaver with her eyes. 

John 

What did Father do? I often wondered 
why you left. 

Philip 

{Continuing^.) Well, by and by, after I'd 
been gone about two years, your Father 
found out where I was and — My! Such let- 
ters as he wrote. He needed me and he used 
all his wits and agreeableness to get me back. 
When I wrote him what I thought of him, he 



66 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

wrote me a letter that no self-respecting man 
would answer. He wrote that I never was 
capable of loving anybody or anything and 
that I had no family feeling and a great deal 
more of that sort. I want to answer that 
letter now, John. Wouldn't you like to have 
a factory of your own? 

John 

That's an impossibility, Uncle Phil. In 
the first place I haven't the money. 

Philip 

I've got the money, if you will take it from 
me. You can have it either with interest or 
without, as you like. 

John 

What about my stock? 
Philip 

That'll sell easy enough. Why, Crowder, 
from the First National told me, coming in 
on the train, that he'd like to have twenty 
thousand in this factory, it was doing so 
well. I'll sell your stock for you. Now the 
only question is, have you got the nerve to 
stand the row and to put Richard off when 
he comes after you? 

John 

I'm ready to do anything that will get me 
out from under him. Why I feel as though 
I were cramped, body and mind and soul. I 
can never be myself without running up 



THE YOUNGER SON 67 

against Richard. He is my brother but I 
have to try hard not to hate him. 

Philip 
(Getting up and shaking out his trouser 
legs while he talks.) There have been more 
younger sons ruined by their older brothers 
than by women, I take it. 

John 
{Figuring.) It will take at least forty 
thousand. 

Philip 
That all I 

John 

Isn't that enough? When can I ever pay 
it back? 

Philip 

Now, don't let that worry you, son. I'm 
risking forty thousand to answer that letter 
your father wrote me so long ago. In it he 
said this, 'Where there are two brothers, 
the younger one never amounts to anything 
unless the older one helps him to it." I've 
lost twenty-five thousand answering that let- 
ter in other parts of the world and I've made 
fifty. I consider that I've made a good in- 
vestment taking the thing as a whole, and I 
count the twenty-five lost as given to charity. 
I've watched you since you were a little 
shaver. I'll not lose betting on you ! 



68 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

John 
{Jumping up and grasping his hand.) 
Thank you for that, Uncle Phil. I could 
run a dozen factories after that. 

Philip 
Now, you better come home to dinner 
with me and we'll fix this thing up. It is just 
the end of your fiscal year and you can leave 
the concern right off. Another thing, John, 
my boy, you'll have to leave home. You can 
never stay there after the row. Better come 
and live with me and help me make my ser- 
vants earn their pay. Why, they've been 
doing nothing but loafing and forwarding 
my mail to me ever since I went to Australia 
last Fall. 

John 
That's a very fine offer. Uncle Phil. I'll 
tell you what I'll do. I'll board with you. 

Philip 
That won't do. You must live with me as 
my son would, if I had one. I couldn't have 
your mother, John, but maybe I can have her 
son. Will you come? 

John 
Yes. 

Philip 
Come home to dinner with me tonight. 
The car's outside. ( They put on their coats 
in silence, John puts out the light,) 

Curtain 



SCENE II 

{The office of The John Pierce Manu- 
facturing Company. Six months elapse be- 
tween Scene I and Scene II. When the cur- 
tain rises an office^ very much like the office 
in Scene I is seen, only everything looks new- 
er and there is no assistant manager's desk. 
It is about four in the afternoon and John is 
still at work in his office. The street door 
opens suddenly and his father enters. He is 
a man about seventy and enters with diffi- 
culty because of infirmities. He leans heavily 
upon his cane.) 

John 

{Turning his head and jumping up.) 
Why, Father! 

Mr. Pierce 

{Gruffly. Stopping a moment to get his 
breath.) Yes, it's me. And do you know 
what I've come for? I came to ask you to 
come back to your right mind and do your 
duty to your old father, and to have a chris- 
tian spirit toward your brother. {He sits 
down heavily in the nearest chair.) Where's 
your stenographer? 

John 

I let her go a little earlier this evening. 
There was nothing just now for her to do. 

69 



70 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

As for what you ask of me — MY duty is to 
stay right here in MY factory. 
Mr. Pierce 
Your Uncle's, you mean. 

John 
No, mine! 

Mr. Pierce 
{Pointing with his cane to the office 
door.) That name up there don't fool any- 
body. (Contemptuously.) "THE JOHN 
PIERCE MANUFACTURING CO." 
How much did he lend you ? 

John 
(Irritated.) Forty thousand. Is there 
anything more you would like to ask? 
Mr. Pierce 
Yes, I want to know how much longer you 
are going to continue to take our business 
away. 

John 
I'm not taking your business away. Fath- 
er. All the names on our books with the ex- 
ception of the firm Green represents are new 
names. The furniture industry here is 
growing. You have the advantage of me. 
You are an old and well established firm. 
Why should I take your business away? 
Mr. Pierce 
Well, you are. Last month The Cres- 
cent Furniture Company lost for the first 



THE YOUNGER SON 71 

time since it started twenty-two years ago. 
How do you account for that if you are not 
taking our business away? 

John 
Who's acting as assistant manager now? 

Mr. Pierce 
Nobody! We had two in there and they 
said they wouldn't stay for twice the salary. 
Don't know what's the matter with them! 

John 
(Quietly.) I do. They had no family 
ties to hold them. 

Mr. Pierce 
I don't know what you're talking about. 
But I do know that you're a cruel, ungrate- 
ful son and you're going to kill me long be- 
fore my time. 

John 
I'm sorry if I've hurt you. 

Mr. Pierce 

Sorry! You never were sorry for any- 
thing! You've always shown this spirit 
toward your brother and me. You haven't 
a particle of affection in you. You're like 
your mother — 

John 

(Quickly.) Stop, Father! That's not so! 
Mother was affectionate! I remember that 
better than anything else. If she showed no 



72 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

affection for you, it was you that made it im- 
posible for her. 

Mr. Pierce 

So it's me, is it? And it takes a young 
Jack a-napes of an ungrateful son to tell me 
so. My God, what's the world coming to? 

John 

(Quietly.) Richard has hurt you some 
way. You always wanted to take it out on 
me when Richard troubled you. Where is 
he? 

Mr. Pierce 

The Lord only knows. He's at the fac- 
tory only about half the time. Last night I 
found him up at Barton's, gambling. He'd 
been drinking and when I wanted him to go 
home, he got up and took me to the door, 
and when the door was closed and we were 
in the hall, he said, "Don't make a fool of 
yourself. Father. A man has to do this for 
business and if you've got any money about 
you, you'd better leave it with me. I'm 
broke. I left him all I had and I haven't seen 
him since. I don't know where he is. 

John 

Probably sleeping somewhere. Did you 
call the Country Club? 

Mr. Pierce 

No, I didn't want anyone to know I was 
hunting him. 



THE YOUNGER SON 73 

John 
I suppose you want me to go hunt him up 
quietly. 

Mr. Pierce 
{Irritably.) What else would I be com- 
ing here for? 

John 
I see. Well, that I can't do. I can't trust 
myself to see Richard. {He turns again to 
his desk hut he is unable to resume his work,) 
Mr. Pierce 
Well, are you going? 
John 
NO! 

Mr. Pierce 
{Getting up.) I suppose it's the grudge 
you've got against your brother for taking 
your girl away ! 

John 
{Without looking up.) Yes, if you want 
to put it that way. 

Mr. Pierce 
Haven't you any falnily pride? 

John 
I hope so! 

Mr. Pierce 
Well, for God's sake, get to work and 
show a little. Show a little affection for your 
brother. Show a little decency and family 
pride. 



74 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

John 

{Excitedly.) Oh, will people never learn 
that there is something beyond family pride 
and family ties and blood and affection and 
that is justice! YOU and Richard have 
never known it. Two-thirds of the people 
who walk on the street out there demand it 
in the courts and are blind, stone blind to it 
in their homes. I mean to live it! I mean 
to teach it! I intend to demand it the rest 
of my life whether I have anything else or 
not. 

Mr. Pierce 

{Disgusted.) Are you going, John? 

John 

No! 

Mr. Pierce 

Damn you! You're no son of mine! 
John 

{Dryly.) Thank you for the compli- 
ment ! 

( The door slams and Mr. Pierce is gone. 
John sinks wearily down at his desk with 
his head in his hands. The office has grown 
almost dark while he and his father are talk- 
ing. The door opens softly and Margaret 
Richter comes in. She closes the door softly 
and stands against it. John turns wearily 
with a sigh toward the door.) 



THE YOUNGER SON 75 

John 
{In a whisper of surprise and unbelief.) 
Margaret! 

Margaret 
{In a calnif matter-of-fact tone.) Yes, 
John, it's I. 

John 
{Coming forward a little.) What are you 
doing here at this time of day? You mustn't 
come here. What is it you want? 
Margaret 
{A little disappointed.) I came to tell 
you something, John. 

John 
I know. Father was just here. Do you 
want me to go after Richard? If YOU ask 
me, I'll go. 

Margaret 
No, I don't want you to go after Richard. 
I know where Richard is. 

John 
Where? 

Margaret 
In his own little bed, asleep. 

John 
How did he get there? 

Margaret 
As perhaps you know. I have a younger 
brother who will do almost anything for 
money. I paid the kid ten dollars to get 



76 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Richard Into the hands of your Jap, Tokio, 
without letting people know. 

John 
That was very fine of you, Margaret. I 
fear you may have to do it again if you 
marry him. 

Margaret 
I'm not going to marry him. I took great 
pains to get him to propose to me so I could 
refuse him. He said he'd go to the dogs if 
I didn't marry him. Now, I suppose he 
thinks he'll scare me into it. I know Richard. 

John 
{Coming forward hopefully.) Then, 
why may I ask, did you think it your duty to 
get him home in that way? 
Margaret 
For the sake of the family. You see, I've 
grown very fond of your Uncle Philip. I've 
seen quite a good deal of him since he came 
back. 

John 
{Backing off.) You don't mean he has 
been calling on you. 

Margaret 
Ye— s. 

John 
{With surprise.) Oh! {Gathering his 
wits after the first shock.) He's a little old 
for you, Margaret, but Uncle Phil is a very 
fine man. Let me congratulate you — 



THE YOUNGER SON 77 

Margaret 
{Holding up her hand.) No, Fm not to 
be congratulated — yet — 

John 
I see things are not quite settled. 

Margaret 
{Shaking her head doubtfully.) No, 
things are not quite settled, John. You make 
it very hard for me. Your Uncle Phil has 
told me a great deal — 

John 
{Breaking in.) Would you like me to 
speak to him? 

Margaret 
{Hopelessly y but amused.) No, but I'd 
like him to speak to you. He's the brightest 
man for never having been trained by a wo- 
man I ever saw. {Indulgently.) John, 
you're awfully stupid. 

John 
{Much abashed.) I know it, Margaret. 
Women are much brighter than men, aren't 
they? 

Margaret 
About some things they certainly are. 

John 
{With sudden courage.) There's some- 
thing I want to tell you, Margaret, before — 
before you belong to any other man — I — I 
{Turning away.) Oh, no, I can't do that — 



78 TWO PLAYS AND A PREFACE 

Margaret 

(Slowly and coming closer,) Do you love 
me, John? 

John 

(Softly.) Yes, Margaret. 
Margaret 

That's exactly what I came to hear. 
John 

(Looks up questioningly, then being re- 
assuredy a great light seems to dawn on him, 
holding out his arms to her,) Margaret! 
Margaret ! 

(He is just coming to embrace her when 
Stephen suddenly opens the street door,) 
Stephen 

(Not seeing well in the dusk,) Mr. John, 
youh Pa done say — (He suddenly realizes 
the situation) — Scuse me!! 

(John and Margaret turn at the interrup- 
tion and look toward the door. When it 
closes they both laugh and then laugh more 
as he goes away singings) 
"Glory, to God, there's a good time comin', 
I see it drawin' nigh! 
Glory to God! That good time comin' 
Means joy in the sweet by and by." 

(As the singing becomes more and more 
inaudible, the curtain falls,) 



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